Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1

by Kinsley Burke

  Chapter Thirteen

  Toby Yates had been perfect. Well, as perfect as any fifteen-year-old love-struck girl imagined him to be. Which, looking back, meant he’d sucked from day one. But he’d been cute, was on the high school football team, and he’d sat in front of me in my Algebra II class sophomore year. All prerequisites for said love-struck fifteen-year-old sophomore girl.

  Luckily, I’d been good at math because studying the dark hair that curled at the nape of Toby’s neck was much more enthralling than listening to Mr. Wilson’s math lectures had ever been.

  That was the year a new girl showed up to school and snagged the previously empty seat at Toby’s right. She was blond and perky, a stark contrast to my sullenness—the word choice of my mother. I had preferred the term intensely contemplating. I had the whole Goth thing going with my dark hair and fair skin and overcompensated with Juicy Couture while avoiding anything Hot Topic.

  By the second day of New Girl’s arrival, she was besties with the same kids who had known me since kindergarten, yet couldn’t call me by name. By the third day of New Girl’s arrival, she’d declared Toby Yates as hers.

  It took a while before I got the memo, the one that screamed back off! Her frozen stares blasted a hole through the top of my head while my lovelorn leers remained firmly fixated on the back of Toby’s neck. The brilliant smiles he cast after my help with a complicated homework problem kept my heart all kinds of warm and fuzzy. Then one day, New Girl walked in wearing Toby’s letter jacket, and his brilliant smiles were no longer directed at me. On that day, I’d realized Lacey Briggs had officially declared war.

  Yup, Lacey hated me over the flirtations of a boy. Inside the math classroom, some sort of chess game had begun. She played in well-thought-out strategic moves while I was nothing more than a powerless pawn. The one tidbit they failed to teach in high school was that high school never ends. Eleven years later, and the same chess game was still in motion. Obviously, no longer over a boy—you know, with that whole her marrying my brother thing. But the thought of her new endgame left me with nothing more than dread.

  “Kiara, here—” Lacey turned with a sympathetic shake of her head, “—we, the family I mean, know she’ll find her one true love. Sometimes it takes a while to find the right man. There’s no shame at being almost thirty and unmarried. Right, girls?”

  We were seated in the middle of Nicola’s Fine Italian Dining, and I froze. The fork of pasta meant for my mouth halted halfway to my lips as I stared up to amused eyes. The urge to fling penne into her smug face was strong. But one of us had to be the adult so I set down my fork. And then I wondered exactly how much hell my mother would put me through for leaving her future daughter-in-law’s dinner before the meal was completed.

  Seven of us gathered around a rectangular wooden table surrounded by warm papered walls and accented white marble statues. The menu prices were as extravagant as the diamond blinking up at me from Lacey’s left hand, and Checking Account screamed abort, abort while five sets of eyes stared at me. They all held the same mocking sympathy Lacey had gifted me. One exception to the glittering eyes and fake sighs was the occupant of the eighth dining chair.

  Miss Prim’s expression was genuine for my perceived sad state of singleness. She reached out a cold hand and gave mine a pat of reassurance.

  “It’s a good thing I’ve no longer set my cap for Detective Wilcox,” she said. “You need him more than I.”

  I snatched back my hand and squeezed the napkin in my lap into a tight ball. There were visions of a cold dead neck in place of the fine white linen. Never tell a wedding-obsessed ghost that you’re heading to a bridesmaids dinner. Ever.

  “Kiara,” Elizabeth Andrews, Lacey’s right-handed sidekick since the eleventh grade, turned to me with her Stepford Wife smile, “My brother-in-law recently left his wife. A nasty divorce that’s turning into, but he’s already jumped back into the dating pool. Why, he even had three different dates last weekend. How about I set you two up for next Friday?”

  How about you don’t?

  "Oh, that's perfect.” Lacey said as she twisted her engagement ring around her left finger. She’d always worn rings on her finger, whether it’d been the pink diamond her parents had gifted her for her sweet sixteen—along with a brand new car—or the hottest guy at school’s class ring. Rings were her tell. Her antsy excitement over some grand scheme she’d put into motion before the final ax crashed down onto some poor victim’s neck. Wistful concern over my future happiness appeared in her smile while her eyes were disturbingly vacant, and her fingers continued twisting at that damn ring. "It's Mark, right? Tell me, has he found another job? When was it that he lost the overnight shift at the sewer plant? Wasn't it last November?"

  "Yes, last November. It was so stupid. He and his girlfriend were only taking a ten-minute break. The supervisor who found them in that closet liked the girlfriend. He—”

  "Wait a sec," I cut in. "Didn't you say he recently left his wife?"

  "Well, that marriage has been over for a long time. I'm sure Mark’s wife was cheating on him, too. Nothing to worry about."

  "You know for a fact she cheated?"

  "Uhh..." Elizabeth cleared her throat and took a sip of wine. "We're sure she was but she's not admitting to it. She wouldn’t get as much out of the divorce settlement if she did. You understand."

  Lovely.

  "But nothing for you to worry about," Lacey said.

  "Oh, no." Elizabeth bypassed the next sip and moved onto a gulp of her wine. "Nothing at all. Mark's a good guy. He's just had a few bad years being married to a nag."

  "I'm so glad I married when I did," said the I-forgot-her-name seated to Lacey's right. "There's so much drama with dating anymore."

  Lacey’s diamond ring may have been the only one twirling like a disco ball, but it wasn’t the only diamond twinkling at me in the dim lighting. One of six diamonds glittering from around the dining table. Lacey was the last of her group to marry, leaving me as the only maid in the group of bridesmaids.

  “Your mother's going to be ecstatic about this,” Lacey said, still speaking of this dating match so not made in Heaven. “She's concerned you'll never find someone.”

  Doubtful. About the concern, that was. About the man? Dark, soulful eyes often popping into my thoughts were irritating, not romantic.

  "I told her that was silly," Lacey said. "While you can't be overly choosy at your age, you still have some time left."

  “You should ask Detective Wilcox for a date,” Miss Prim chimed in. “You’re much prettier than the hussy with the cookies.”

  “Kiara, I’ve got the perfect dress for you to wear,” Lacey said, and then paused. “Well, it might be a little snug.”

  “So next Friday night it is.” Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll tell Mark about seven? Oh, and you should know he’s one of those guys who’s all about women’s rights. He likes it when the woman pays for a meal, so don’t hesitate to offer.”

  Women's rights my ass. Try cheap loser—scratch that. Try unemployed cheap cheating loser. Which begged the question… “What about the girlfriend?"

  "Oh, he dumped her last week. Too clingy. She actually thought he was going to propose after he left the wife. No idea why."

  "Well, then." My napkin became an even tighter ball of linen. "I’m sorry Elizabeth, but I already have plans that night. No need to reschedule."

  “Really?” Lacey asked. “Your mother didn’t mention any.”

  “Really.” Painting my toenails was darn well counting as plans. “My mother doesn’t keep my schedule.”

  “Listen, Kiara, sweetie.” There's nothing more condescending than an arrogant bitch calling you sweetie. “We only want what’s best for you, that’s all. I would hate for you to end up like my receptionist.”

  Receptionist? The same receptionist who brewed a fabulous pot of coffee each morning?

  Lacey reached out her arm. The heat of her palm spread across the top of my hand and did absolut
ely nothing to dismiss my theory that she was Satan in the flesh. However, it wasn’t heat, but coldness, flecking the irises of her eyes.

  “What’s wrong with your receptionist?” Katie what's-her-last-name asked. “Our receptionist turns into an utter wreck whenever some guy dumps her. She can barely transfer a call for weeks.”

  “Oh, it’s much worse than being dumped,” Lacey said. “He’s missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Yes, missing. He disappeared last weekend and…”

  Five heads leaned forward. Five bated breaths were held. Five sets of unblinking eyes focused. I sat back and poked at my penne with a fork.

  "...he was on a date with another woman when he disappeared.”

  A collective gasp surrounded the table. Including Miss Prim's. My elbow may or may not have nudged a cold rib. I'd never tell. The following painful yelp, heard only by me, was not incrimination.

  “He was cheating on her?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Well, I’m not exactly certain they were dating,” Lacey said. “If they weren't dating then there was no cheating. But if they were, he was absolute shit for a boyfriend. I mean, he never took her out to lunch or sent her flowers. And she’s really not very pretty. She's rather dumpy looking, actually. And desperate. Their relationship could have been entirely made-up in her head. Desperate people are crazy. But she's fabulous at answering the phones, so the Partners keep her around.”

  “So she made him up?” Katie asked.

  “No, she didn’t make him up. He was real. I even saw him once, and the police stopped by this week with questions.” Lacey scrunched her nose. “He was cute. Tall with dark blond hair. Some kind of engineer, I think. I’m not sure they were actually dating, you know? I mean, why would a cute professional guy go for a dumpy receptionist?"

  My fork clattered onto my plate. Lacey’s words had a strong influence on that clatter. Only Lacey could be so insulting while leaving me to beg for more. Damn, she was evil.

  “When did he go missing?” I asked.

  “Sunday night. Why?”

  Lightheadedness hit and I stared dazed at my plate. What were the odds? I shrugged out of my stupor and looked up to Lacey. "Just curious."

  Except it was a hell of a lot more than simple curiosity, but I didn't want Lacey's own piqued by my sudden interest.

  “She’s talking about Logan, isn’t she?” Miss Prim’s cold revved up in excitement, and it invaded my space. As in, the ghost was practically sitting in my lap. Shoving her back into her chair was not optional in a public location. Damn public. Miss Prim appeared oblivious to my irritation. “Ask her if it’s Logan. Ask her.”

  For a ghost who aspired to be the next Sherlock, she sucked at maintaining a cool disposition in order to obtain information. In other words, I briefly entertained the thought of unrolling my napkin and shoving it into her overly enthusiastic mouth in order to shut her up.

  "Ask her.”

  Really, if I ignored Checking Account and ordered a couple more bottles of wine for the table, no one would notice a napkin suspended in mid-air.

  "Ask her, ask her, ask her.”

  "So you said you've met the boyfriend?"

  "The guy she claimed was her boyfriend, yes."

  "Ask her.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Why?" She studied me over the rim of her glass. "Why the interest? Did you know him?"

  "Ask her.”

  "Probably not, but you haven't mentioned his name."

  "His first name was Logan, but I can't recall the last. Familiar?”

  “We’ve got a lead.” The block of ice camouflaged as Miss Prim fell back into her chair with a wide grin. Two more seconds and I would have been in the ER with frostbite. Miss Prim seemed oblivious to her continued efforts for my early demise as she said, “We need a bulletin board and some string. Get me some string. I’m going to solve this case.”

  No idea what kind of lead Miss Prim thought we had, but okay. Whatever. But seriously? Bulletin board and string? The information her case consisted of was simple: Logan Bradley was not rich, was not top management at a health technology firm, dated a hooker, and may or may not have had a girlfriend who worked as a receptionist at a CPA firm—a dumpy girlfriend who, by the way, brewed a fabulous pot of coffee each morning. According to Lacey. Not certain how string was going to connect those dots.

  "No,” I answered Lacey, and picked up my fork, poking at the pasta some more. "It's just sad, that's all. I hope they find him, and I hope your receptionist is doing all right."

  "Now aren't you sweet?" Lacey turned to Elizabeth. "Make certain to tell Mark that Kiara's sweet and thoughtful of others."

  By her tone, the reminder wasn’t a compliment. Time scattered and had run out before I could analyze those words. Her gaze returned to me.

  "Logan was cute and had a great career, but we want to make certain that's not the kind of guy we find for you. That's why Mark's perfect, so don't screw this up."

  Huh?

  Elizabeth nodded. "Exactly."

  "I don't want you to be like our receptionist," Lacey said to me. "Overreaching."

  What the hell?

  "Now if you will stop dressing so dumpy and acting all desperate, maybe you'll finally settle down with someone in your league, like Mark." Lacey pointed the end of her fork at me. "This is why you're still single, Kiara. You go after the wrong men. Forget the Logans of this world because otherwise, you'll end up like Chelsea."

  A cheating scumbag was my league? And wait—dumpy? I was dumpy? Who was Chelsea?

  "Just FYI, sister to sister: men don't find desperate women attractive so let's work on that, shall we?"

  What the hell? I was not desperate. And how did I become the topic du jour? What happened to the receptionist?

  Damn, this conversation was tricky to follow.

  “Please, don’t invent a relationship like Chelsea did, especially not with a man who’s dating other women.”

  “Chelsea is the girl who brews the coffee, right?” I asked.

  Her Prom Queen smile made its appearance. What took it so long? “I’m glad you’ve agreed to this date, but you know that dress I mentioned earlier? I think maybe we should go shopping for something new instead. Considering I’m a bit taller and thinner, it might not be the most flattering look for you.”

  She so was not thinner than me. I bit my tongue. Hard. “I haven’t agreed to a date.”

  “Of course, you have, sweetie. You don't want to be alone for the rest of your life, do you? Tick-tock. Right, girls?"

  My vision saw red, and the only other person who had made me see that shade was Miss Prim. After she’d murdered a woman. The fury within me created a rumble of anger echoing throughout the room. Low and menacing. The floor vibrated. And…

  Ah, crap. That wasn’t me. The only way I could make the floor vibrate was by knocking Lacey off her chair so hard that she skidded across the room while her insufferable head continuously slammed against wood floors. A girl could dream.

  Anger deflated, leaving me with a realization that a cool breeze drifted at my back. The mobile fireplace that had been anchored to my chair all night had apparently taken a walk. Great. The night was about to turn into massive chaos. Someone was certainly having fun with the what-can-go-wrongs, and that person wasn’t me.

  Another growl prompted my elbow to move, and it gave another nudge to a cold rib. This time it was get your attention hard. But a particular ghost could be very stubborn and my nudge went unheeded. Great. Weddings were obviously catnip to the dead because sometime during the past five-point-two seconds one dang ghost had replaced her murder investigation fixation with satin bridesmaid dresses. Why Lacey had five bridal magazines spread across a wanna-be five-star dining table, I couldn’t fathom. Apparently, neither she nor Miss Prim cared about proper table etiquette. Another growl echoed the room, but the ghost remained oblivious.

  “This shopping trip will be so much fun,” Lacey said. She squeal
ed. Her minions squealed. “I think we should go to—”

  A crash interrupted whatever destination she had planned, and I stared up to a red-faced server standing amongst broken dishes. It was impossible to ignore the massive beast at his side, lapping up food off the floor. I probably should have had a sense of horror at the sight. Perhaps dread? Unease? But I was fascinated with wonder at the restaurant patrons’ reactions to chunks of food magically vanishing one bite at a time.

  “Something’s there! I felt it,” A pudgy woman cried out. She was seated at a table two feet away from the beast and hadn’t felt a damn thing. "Look, a black nose and flames. The plate's on fire.”

  Okay, that she could see. Hellhound must have stuck his nose through the veil in order to eat his food. I wondered how that worked.

  “Your beast got loose.” Miss Prim flipped the page on the bridal magazine, taking full advantage of all eyes directed at the plump woman plunging backward off her chair and crumpling into a heap on the floor. From all appearances, a dead faint. Later, she’d probably wish pants had been part of the day’s attire instead of a loose dress.

  “Restaurants never hire good help anymore,” Lacey addressed the group. “The guy should be fired for ruining someone's dinner. Now those poor people will have to wait another thirty minutes to eat. Our server better be grateful that hadn't happened with our food. Wait, when’s the last time she came to refill our wine glasses?”

  “Fifteen minutes ago,” Elizabeth said.

  “I can’t believe it.” Lacey shook her head. “Proper service mandates they check on their guests every five minutes. I don’t think she deserves a tip.”

  “Should we complain to a manager?”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea. The restaurant should comp our meals.”

  “Yeah,” Katie said. “I get my meals comped all the time. Mention Yelp whenever you complain. The managers give you anything you want if they think you’re going to leave a bad review.”